


caress me down

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: that's the loving sound[a silverflint pwp massage fic]





	caress me down

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from my Tumblr! For El and Rose, who both needed some massage fic in their lives. Title and lyrics in summary borrowed from the Sublime song because why not.

Overall, Flint has found himself very impressed with how well his quartermaster has gotten on with half his left leg missing. He's recovered well and rallied admirably; he's shown more strength than many men would be capable of in the same situation. He's become Long John fucking Silver the pirate king, which would be quite an achievement even for someone who hadn't endured what he has.

It's clear to Flint, though, that something is persistently nagging at Silver. He's been more irritable of late, and when he thinks no one’s looking, he pushes himself up on his crutch and stands as straight as he can, tipping his head side to side and rolling his shoulders back, grimacing in pain. 

Flint can only imagine the toll that using the crutch is taking on Silver. It's hard to tell if it's better or worse for him, physically, than the false leg was - it has the obvious advantage of not irritating his stump, but it's changed his gait, changed the way he wields his body. These changes look, from an outsider’s perspective, painful. Difficult.

There's an obvious solution to this, one that makes Flint’s fingers tingle and his breath grow short, but he's not sure Silver will let him do it. He's so stubborn and prideful, such a beautiful idiot when it comes to accepting help even when it's necessary. So Flint bides his time and waits for the opportunity to present itself, and eventually, it does.

Silver heaves himself down on the edge of the bed in Flint's cabin of an evening, looking thoroughly world-weary. They've been sharing the bed on and off for some time now, originally because Flint slyly convinced him that it wouldn't be good for him to sleep in a hammock like the others, and now because they've gotten into the habit and they enjoy each other's company.

“You seem tense,” Flint observes from where he's standing by the foot of the bed, watching as Silver slowly undresses.

Silver snorts. “I wonder why in the world I of all people would be tense,” he mutters, unbuttoning his shirt with deft fingers and shrugging out of it, letting it fall to the floor. It'll wrinkle and he'll look like an urchin when he puts it on again come morning, but Flint's told him that before. It always falls on deaf (tiny, ridiculous) ears.

“I could help you ease that tension,” Flint offers casually, strolling around to stand in front of Silver. He looks down at him, taking him in - long, silky curls, loose now that he's almost ready for bed. Tired and amused blue eyes, still gleaming with mischief despite everything. Bare chest, tan and muscular with a faint dusting of dark hair that thickens on his belly and then leads down into his breeches, a wiry trail that Flint wants to follow with his tongue. His shoulders, the set of them hard and defensive, slightly off-kilter even when he's sitting down.

“Is that some kind of terrible attempt at flirting with me? You know I don't require that from you, it isn't strictly speaking necessary between you and I. We have an understanding that I'm quite happy with. Although I will say, once in awhile it is--”

“Shut up,” Flint interrupts, mildly exasperated that Silver insists on running his mouth so when Flint is just trying to do something nice, dammit. “What I meant is, I could rub your shoulders. Maybe even your back if you'd like. It might help.”

“You're sure this isn't just an excuse to get your hands on me?” Silver asks with a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “Because I'll say again, you don't have to try that hard to woo me. I've already been wooed by your impressive...charms. Thoroughly. And repeatedly.”

“Must you turn every attempt of mine to do something kind for you into an unrelentingly filthy innuendo? Lie on your belly,” Flint says, trying and failing to keep the commanding tone out of his voice.

“You just make it so _easy_ ,” Silver purrs as he complies, lying back and rolling over onto his front. He folds his arms and rests his head on them, breath puffing out in a quiet sigh.

Flint eases up on the bed and slings one leg over Silver's thighs, gently settling his weight on him. It's tempting to treat Silver with kid gloves, to handle him like he's fragile. But he's not, of course - if anything he's proven he's made of even hardier stuff than Flint himself. Once he's in place, Flint leans forward and pushes Silver's hair aside, then begins rubbing Silver's shoulders with a moderate amount of pressure.

“Harder,” Silver mumbles, and when Flint complies he lets out the most delicious noise. It's a moan borne of pure satisfaction, not unlike the noises he's made in Flint's bed before. “That's it,” Silver groans, and Flint realizes too late that if he thought there was any way this wasn't going to lead to them fucking, he woefully overestimated his own ability to ignore his libido. Not for the first time in his life, either.

Focusing resolutely on the task at hand, Flint kneads Silver's shoulders, digging his thumbs in hard since it seems like that's what Silver wants. Silver, for his part, keeps making those delicious noises and seems liable to melt right into the bed. Slowly, Flint works his way down Silver's back, rubbing his warm, sun-darkened skin and quietly reveling in the way he relaxes under Flint’s touch. He finds himself digging both thumbs into the little dimples right above Silver's arse, almost hypnotized by the softness of his skin and the perfect beauty of those twin indents. He only realizes he's been lingering on them for an embarrassingly long amount of time when Silver speaks.

“Find something you like?” he teases, and he's started squirming under Flint’s hands, pressing back toward him, his entire body sending the most astoundingly clear ‘come hither’ signals Flint thinks he's ever seen.

He licks his lips, feeling suddenly parched. “Can I…?” he asks, slipping one teasing finger under the waistband of Silver’s breeches.

“Obviously,” Silver rumbles. He flips himself over and sits up in one fluid motion, grabbing Flint by the back of his neck and hauling him in for an almost violent kiss. Then Flint feels Silver's large, clever hands working away at his clothing, and before he knows it he's been stripped naked. He sits back, panting, and watches as Silver squirms out of his breeches, leaving him completely bare, too. 

“Did you plan this?” Flint asks, suspicious now, as Silver lies back on the bed and grabs a pot of his edible-smelling hair product from underneath the bed, pressing it impatiently into Flint's left hand.

“Did _I_ plan it?” Silver echoes, incredulous, eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline. “You're the one who suggested the whole thing, are you not? One would almost be inclined to believe you're the master orchestrator of the plan, here.”

“One would almost be inclined to believe you're a shit,” Flint says succinctly, dipping the fingers of his right hand into the sweet-smelling oil and easing one finger into Silver, leaning over him and looking down into those aggravatingly blue eyes.

“You always come back to that,” Silver says, and Flint is gratified to hear that he's gone a bit breathless and high-pitched. “Why is that your favorite insult for me, mm? You've got such a large-- _ahh_ , vocabulary, and there are so many other, more creatively eviscerating things you could call m-- fuck!” he exclaims when Flint nudges two fingers over that spot inside him. Then he's grabbing at Flint desperately with both hands, hauling him bodily forward and sliding his good leg around Flint's waist.

Flint knows an invitation when he gets one thrown at him so blatantly. He pulls his fingers out of Silver and slicks himself with a little more of the oil before shifting forward on his knees and pressing slowly into Silver, watching his face to make sure he's not hurting him. Once he slides home he exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and starts rocking slowly with him, shuddering with pleasure. They've done this before and will do it again, no doubt, but each and every time lights a fire in him. He can't get enough. He shifts to lie on top of Silver, sliding his arms around him and burying his face in those curls. They tickle his skin but he doesn't pull away, just presses ever closer to Silver as he fucks him, trying valiantly to merge their bodies into one.

“That's it, that's it, just like that,” Silver says hoarsely, and Flint can feel the words vibrating in his chest like he's the one who spoke them. “Harder, more, come on,” Silver gasps, and Flint groans, helpless against his need to give Silver whatever he wants.

He fucks into him hard, no longer concerned about hurting him, not interested in treating him like he's fragile. They're gentle with each other sometimes, to be sure, but other times one or both of them just _needs_ this - needs it to be such that teeth rattle, nails scratch, fingers bruise. Times like these they come away from it looking more like they've been fighting than fucking, and in these moments the part of Flint that craves violence, that aches for the tang of blood in his mouth, finally finds absolution.

He feels Silver coming between them, a hot slick wetness on his stomach that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. Dimly, he hears Silver keening, shouting his pleasure at the timbers of the ceiling because he's never been much for keeping quiet. Flint pushes into him twice more and spends himself inside his body, snarling with it, the pleasurable violence between them slowly ebbing away in the afterglow.

Flint pulls free of Silver and rolls over to lie next to him instead, wrapping one arm around him when he presses close and rests his head, hair dark and damp with sweat, on Flint's shoulder.

“It's the strangest thing,” Silver says a few moments later, and Flint can feel him turning his head to hide a smile in Flint's neck. “No matter how rough we are together, afterwards I always get this feeling of...warmth, and contentment in me. I can feel it just now, blooming in my chest.”

“It's some kind of after-effect of getting off together, I think,” Flint says knowingly, but presses a kiss to the top of Silver’s head just the same. “Some kind of bodily witchcraft that makes you think you love me. Either that or your humors need balancing,” he jokes.

Silver doesn't laugh, though. He pushes himself up on an elbow and squints down at Flint, cheeks ruddy, ears peeking through his lank hair. “But I do love you,” he says, and Flint is at once surprised and not so at all by those words.

“I know,” he finds himself saying, tucking Silver's hair behind one ear. “I love you, too,” he adds, almost as an afterthought because he's sure Silver already knows.

Seemingly satisfied with that response, Silver lies back down, draping himself half on top of Flint. In a few minutes he's snoring in Flint's ear, one of his hands grasping Flint’s arm, tendrils of his dark hair spreading like ink across Flint’s skin. Flint holds him close and shuts his eyes, thinking as he drifts off what a foolhardy and glorious thing it is, to love another person.


End file.
